


Lullabye For a Stormy Night

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Forced Pregnancy, M/M, McCoy pretty much feaking out non-stop, Mpreg, possible alien non-con, some trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they are back on Vulcan trying to adjust to what their live now looks like</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullabye For a Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

>  Originally written in October 2009
> 
> so this is actually a fill for my own anon (well not anymore) [prompt on](http://community.livejournal.com/st_tos_kink/485.html?thread=251621#t251621) ts_tos_kink, but I'm not posting it there in hopes that some one else will take a crack at it. beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) **cardiac_logic** who is both wonderful and awesome, and who also checked my Vulcan.

McCoy sighs and moves across the balcony to lean against the railing in the early morning heat. Early morning is about the only time he can stand to be outside on Vulcan, really; after about mid-morning the heat just gets way too oppressive for him to handle, and here he’d always thought he was a hot weather kind of person. He sips his coffee and looks down across the wide expanse of city. Before moving here, whenever he thought of Vulcan he never thought of cities - he thought of wide-open deserts, not cities. Yet Vulcan has cities, huge ones at that, and they happen to be living in the capital, the largest city on Vulcan. It reminds him slightly of San Francisco or Atlanta.

McCoy sighs again and presses his knuckles against his forehead, thinking of Spock still asleep in the apartment behind him. He thinks about what they are doing on Vulcan and tries not to freak out. No, he won’t freak out again, Goddamn it. Truth is he’s been freaking out every couple of weeks since it happened. He still can’t think about it without having his stomach turn over; because really, at their age, he doesn’t know what the hell the damn aliens were thinking. In fact he’s pretty sure he kept yelling something along those line when it happened. He yelled a lot in general, actually, because the aliens were touching Spock in ways Spock did not want to be touched and doing things he didn’t want done to him. He still feels guilty that he hadn’t been able to stop it; it definitely never should have happened. __

_Spock’s pregnant._

The thought rises up in his mind again; it’s become the mantra of his life really, the reason he sleeps, eats and breathes, the reason neither of them is in Starfleet or on the Enterprise right now, the reason they are on Vulcan. Evidently Spock’s fine, perfectly healthy, for a man doing what men were never built to do. Something to do with his regeneration after Genesis, and it would all be terribly interesting from a medical standpoint if it wasn’t his husband, if it wasn’t his baby. He guesses he should consider himself lucky that it was him and Spock on the away team if it hadn't been his husband might have ended up carrying Jim's baby. On the other hand maybe that would have been for the best, Jim is at least younger. McCoy's too old to be doing this; he has grandchildren for Christ’s sake, he can’t possibly give a child the kind of life they’d deserve.

Somewhere in the apartment a door slides shut and McCoy turns and heads back inside.

Spock is in the kitchen, hair still rumpled from sleep, making himself tea. McCoy leans against the counter and watches Spock move awkwardly around the kitchen. Spock’s so big now, it’s both hard and painful for him to walk, but he still insists he spend at least a little time each day on his feet. McCoy wants to go to his mate and kiss him, touch his cheek, but Spock’s been especially prickly and standoffish for days, and McCoy knows enough about hormone imbalances and pregnancy to give Spock his space when he wants it.

“Leonard,” Spock says, finally looking up from his cup of tea. He holds out a hand and McCoy goes to him, takes it between both of his and kisses Spock’s cheek.

“Good morning, darlin’.”

“You have been worrying again.” Spock picks up his tea and carries it into the living room, setting it carefully on the table before lowering himself down onto the couch. “To do so is illogical. I am well; our daughter is well.” He picks his tea back up and gazes placidly back at McCoy, who fights back the sudden urge to tear up. This entire pregnancy has made him much more moody and emotional than Spock; sometimes McCoy wonders if his own body is overcompensating for Spock’s Vulcan control. He goes to Spock and sits next to him on the couch, tracing two of his fingers down the back of Spock’s hand. Spock accepts the intimacy, raising his hand to gently trace McCoy’s fingers with his own.

“I know,” Spock says gently, although they have had this conversation many times before over the last several months, “I know that this child came to us not in a way either of us would have wished. I know that you feel some guilt that I carry your child initially against my will. However, we will give this child a good home and a good life, and you are more than capable of providing for her.” Spock slides his hand along McCoy’s so that their palms press together flat and McCoy feels himself choke up for the second time that day. Spock only leans forward and kisses him lightly on the forehead.

“We should probably talk about names again,” McCoy says, changing the subject before he embarrasses himself. He slides his hand away from Spock’s and lets it come to rest gently on Spock’s belly. “You’re still dead set on giving her a Vulcan name aren’t you?”

He presses his hand against Spock’s swollen middle. Their daughter evidently has quite the attitude and likes to kick at inopportune moments, not that anyone’s really surprised.

“The decision is of course both of ours,” Spock says, which of course means he is still set on a Vulcan name. McCoy sighs; he knows they will end up going with a Vulcan name mostly because Vulcan genetics are dominant, so their daughter will look Vulcan. He’s not stupid, and he doesn’t want to give her any more disadvantages than she’ll already have.

“At the moment,” Spock tells him, “I am favoring T’aiya.”

McCoy leans his head back against the couch, slowly rubbing small circles against Spock’s belly, “That’s pretty, what does it mean?”

Spock’s eyebrows draw together and he seems to think about it for several minutes before shaking his head slightly. “That is hard to say,” he tells McCoy, “I am not sure I can translate it correctly when it is given as a name.”He pauses for a long moment, “However it is partly derived from the Vulcan word meaning stars.”

“It’s nice.” McCoy wishes he could say something better, more articulate; right now he concentrates on Spock’s stomach, on the rhythmic movement of his own hand.

“We could give her a human name,” Spock allows gently, and McCoy looks up at him and shakes his head.

Spock stands suddenly, one hand going to his back. “I am going to lie down.” He sweeps out of the room toward the bedroom and after a minute McCoy follows.

Spock is stripping out of the Vulcan robe he’s been wearing and he puts on a pair of soft black pajama pants instead, leaving his chest bare, his belly looking even odder than usual in contrast to his flat chest and dark hair. He lies down on the bed and after a minute McCoy comes and lies next to him.

“I want our daughter to have a Vulcan name,” McCoy tells him softly, resting one hand on Spock’s chest. “It’s just . . . I’m not your mother, Spock; I’m going to be useless raising a Vulcan child.”

Spock is silent for a long moment staring at the ceiling, not at McCoy. “Our child is more human than Vulcan,” Spock says finally, “and I do not know how to raise a human child.”

He turns to look at McCoy and McCoy brings his hands up, cupping Spock’s face, kisses across his cheeks, kisses his nose and then finally kisses him on the lips. “You are so beautiful,” McCoy tells him, pressing their foreheads together, letting his hand lightly touch Spock’s throat, shoulders, chest, stomach, “so brave for doing this, for deciding you could do this, after everything. I love you so much.”

Spock reaches up, catches one of McCoy’s hands, twists their fingers together. “I would not have chosen to have a child with anyone else,” Spock tells him seriously,“my adun.”

They lie curled against each other and McCoy strokes Spock’s hair until the other man drifts off to sleep. Finally McCoy gently untangles himself and gets up; grabbing the tricorder from the bedside table, he scans Spock, making sure both his husband and the baby are all right. After seeing that they are in fact fine, he leaves the room and moves on to their office, where he sifts through the messages left on the computer. There are about a dozen from Jim, everything from demanding updates and vids of Spock, to suggested names for the baby. There is a message from Amanda setting up a time to take them to buy tiny Vulcan baby clothes, a thought that both fills McCoy with joy and makes his mind cringe away in fear. There are many from both Starfleet Medical and the Vulcan Science Academy, all of which he firmly deletes without answering. He has been quite clear since the beginning of all this that he will not allow Spock or their child to be turned into some sort of medical guinea pig.

A baby. He closes his eyes again, feels his stomach drop with more terror than he’s felt since Spock died. He pushes that aside, thinks of the last time he held a baby, thinks of when Joanna was born. He wants this daughter, he does; she’s not even born yet and he already loves her more than he can handle. It scares the hell out of him, though, to think of how hard this is going to be, in how many ways he could mess this up. He gets up and goes back to the bedroom, leans over and kisses Spock on the tip of one pointed ear. He wanders over to the table on the other side of the room, rummages around until he finds the PADD he’s been using to work on his latest journal article; he lies down on the bed next to Spock and props himself up on the headboard, stretches out his legs in front of him, crosses them slightly and goes back to his research. In an hour or so Spock will wake up hungry and McCoy will figure out what to order them for dinner, and they will argue about baby names again. For now he lets one hand rest lightly on Spock’s head and concentrates on his reading.  
   


 


End file.
